Today is Pregnany and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I don't suppose I can let the day pass without commenting on my experience with pregnancy loss.
I've always pictured myself having kids, although I was never the girl who loved children and loved to babysit. In fact, for the most part other people's children drive me crazy. My nightmare job would be running a preschool or being a Jr. High School counsellor (which, I maintain, is THE WORST job in the world. Seriously, those people should get hazard pay!) I maintain profound respect for people who work in those positions because somebody has to do it and it ain't gonna be me!!
Regardless, I have always felt that my life would be incomplete without children of my own. Finding my soul mate just brought those feelings closer to the surface. I not only want to have children, I want to have HIS children. And then, I found out I was pregnant.
My whole outlook on life changed in an instant. All of a sudden, I had life inside of me. I was looking at milestones that would be different from now on. We would have a baby for Thanksgiving, for Christmas. We would be celebrating our one year anniversary with me being "great with child" and just a few weeks from meeting our son or daughter. My parents would be grandparents, my grandparents would be great grandparents, and my great grandparents would be great-great grandparents. I could finally have the five generation photo that I had always dreamed of having, to display next to the four generation photo that was taken when I was a small child. I was going to be a mom, Eric was going to be a dad. I thought about the baby names we had picked out, I thought about decorating a nursery, I thought about who I was going to see for the prenatal care, diapers, and car seats, and just everything that welcoming a new little life into the world would bring us.
And then, as soon as it began it ended. There would not be a little one joining us this Thanksgiving or Christmas. My five generation photo would have to be put on hold, and I had to deal with the possiblity that it may never happen. Those names we picked would go back to the shelf, unused. There was no longer life inside of me. Even though the flame of motherhood had been lit, there was no baby for us to bring home. Then, to top off the emotional heartache, was the physical pain.
Mere days after discovering our loss, I faced another blow in the unexpected loss of a friend. A young woman who was only a couple of months older than me, struck down in the prime of her life. Then, just weeks later, I found myself holding my scared little sister's hand as she heard her baby's heartbeat for the first time, and a couple of days later found out that she was 24 weeks pregnant with what would be my dearly loved little niece, Ivory. I found myself sitting on the floor of my closet, crying, mourning my loss all over again. The realization that my sister was going to have a happy, healthy, full term baby was bittersweet. I would never, ever wish a loss on anybody. On the other hand, I found myself questioning what was wrong with me that I couldn't have what she had, what billions of women have had, the joy of motherhood. Everytime my parents speak about becoming grandparents, about their grandchild, it sends a sharp sliver of hurt through me. Every time I see another friend discover she is expecting, it hurts my soul. Not because I'm not happy for those things, but because it brings into sharp relief what I lost, and what I will not be a part of.
Although my loss has caused me heartache, it has also had it's positives. I've met women who have had similar experiences, and shared their pain. I've grown closer to my husband, closer than I could've imagined. I've had a chance to reevaluate my priorities, and as important and meaningful as my education and career are to me, I have recognized my higher calling, and I will continue to work towards it.
If I can point to one thing that has helped me the most in this situation, it has been being verbal about it. I'm not changing the world, I'm not changing people's lives, but I am discovering that speaking about our trials, sharing our imperfections, our hurt and our struggles makes us stronger. Shared experiences unite us. I am not alone. And, if you, like millions of women, have experienced this loss, you are not alone.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Miracles
I was reading an article on ksl today. It was discussing a little girl in West Jordan, Sierra Newbold, and the capture of the man who raped and brutally murdered her. It was really quite a spectacular piece of police work, with not a small amount of luck, and, as the police chief so elegantly said, "I myself believe it is divine intervention."
To which, of course, people on the message boards responded without fail, "If it was divine intervention, than why didn't God intervene and prevent that stuff from happening to that girl in the first place?" Like the mindless drone of insects, it was repeated practically verbatim in every other post. If there is a God, he would never let bad things happen.
The story, in a nutshell, is this (I posted a link to the full article below, and give full credit to Pat Reavy and ksl.): Three days after Sierra's body was found, a young woman has her Jeep stolen. She reports it to the police, and also tells her boss about it. Later that day, her boss walks into a bank where she discovers her employee's stolen truck in the parking lot and the man who stole it inside robbing the bank. She confronts the man in the parking lot, and is able to capture a picture of him on her phone. West Jordan police respond to the scene. The detective who was investigating the murder of Sierra Newbold catches wind of these developments, and has a feeling that he should go to the scene of the crime. Upon arrest of the suspect for the bank robbery and car theft, the detective notices black soot on the knees of the man's pants. He remembers that the field in which Sierra Newbold's body was found had been burned a few days prior to her murder, and that her pajamas were covered in this same black soot. Going on this hunch, they run DNA and lo and behold, they have a match.
Luck? Divine intervention? Just plain old good police work? I feel that it is a combination of all of the above.
Of course, that is not the point of this blog post. I read this story and think, "Miracle." Miracle that this family could have some closure, miracle that this man is off the streets and will never harm another child again, miracle that all of the pieces fell into place and led to this man's arrest. Others see it and say, "No miracle here. The miracle would've been her not being raped and murdered in the first place."
And, you know, they are right. That is a miracle. Every six year old girl on the earth today who hasn't been kidnapped, raped, and murdered, is a miracle. Every day that passes that this little girl is allowed to continue her life, alive and unhurt, is a miracle. Every young woman who goes on a first date without getting assaulted is a miracle. Every child who is born into this world healthy and whole is a miracle. Every day the sun rises, every night the sun sets, every breath, every touch, every minute, is a miracle. How do I know this? How do I see these miracles? Because, this life isn't a given. It is because horrible things happen to good people, because people make mistakes, because some people are truly cruel and evil, that miracles happen. If no one ever got hurt, or killed, or maimed, if every pregnancy was uncomplicated and resulted in a healthy newborn who would live a full life without ever having to suffer, if everyone was guaranteed a life without pain, or heartache, or loss, without suffering, there would be no miracles.
My heart hurts for this family. It isn't fair what happened to them. I picture the last moments of this little girl's life and it makes me physically sick to my stomach. (Not that I haven't had a moment without being nauseated in the past month, but you know what I mean.) But, here are the consequences of that incident: An innocent little girl is in heaven, and never has to suffer another moment. A mother has lost a daughter. A sister has lost her best friend. A father feels the emptiness of his home. A man was captured, a man who may be responsible for other incidents such as this. These parents, who have lived without their child for years, have hope that they will find an answer, find some closure. A community is mourning. Who knows how many little girls were saved by this man's arrest. Every mother who reads this story holds her child closer. Some people installed home security systems, some people bought guns, or big dogs, to protect their family. Maybe as a result of that, a life is saved.
When you take away the bitter, you take away the sweet. The more the pendulum swings back into pain and despair, the further it can swing forward into happiness and joy. Nobody wants the bad things to happen, but without those negative experinces, there is no joy in life.
So, take a minute today to see the miracles. They are all around you. Enjoy the good moments. Because they won't last. They can't last. And that is what makes them so, so, sweet.
Here's a link to the article if you would like to read it:
http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=21194209
To which, of course, people on the message boards responded without fail, "If it was divine intervention, than why didn't God intervene and prevent that stuff from happening to that girl in the first place?" Like the mindless drone of insects, it was repeated practically verbatim in every other post. If there is a God, he would never let bad things happen.
The story, in a nutshell, is this (I posted a link to the full article below, and give full credit to Pat Reavy and ksl.): Three days after Sierra's body was found, a young woman has her Jeep stolen. She reports it to the police, and also tells her boss about it. Later that day, her boss walks into a bank where she discovers her employee's stolen truck in the parking lot and the man who stole it inside robbing the bank. She confronts the man in the parking lot, and is able to capture a picture of him on her phone. West Jordan police respond to the scene. The detective who was investigating the murder of Sierra Newbold catches wind of these developments, and has a feeling that he should go to the scene of the crime. Upon arrest of the suspect for the bank robbery and car theft, the detective notices black soot on the knees of the man's pants. He remembers that the field in which Sierra Newbold's body was found had been burned a few days prior to her murder, and that her pajamas were covered in this same black soot. Going on this hunch, they run DNA and lo and behold, they have a match.
Luck? Divine intervention? Just plain old good police work? I feel that it is a combination of all of the above.
Of course, that is not the point of this blog post. I read this story and think, "Miracle." Miracle that this family could have some closure, miracle that this man is off the streets and will never harm another child again, miracle that all of the pieces fell into place and led to this man's arrest. Others see it and say, "No miracle here. The miracle would've been her not being raped and murdered in the first place."
And, you know, they are right. That is a miracle. Every six year old girl on the earth today who hasn't been kidnapped, raped, and murdered, is a miracle. Every day that passes that this little girl is allowed to continue her life, alive and unhurt, is a miracle. Every young woman who goes on a first date without getting assaulted is a miracle. Every child who is born into this world healthy and whole is a miracle. Every day the sun rises, every night the sun sets, every breath, every touch, every minute, is a miracle. How do I know this? How do I see these miracles? Because, this life isn't a given. It is because horrible things happen to good people, because people make mistakes, because some people are truly cruel and evil, that miracles happen. If no one ever got hurt, or killed, or maimed, if every pregnancy was uncomplicated and resulted in a healthy newborn who would live a full life without ever having to suffer, if everyone was guaranteed a life without pain, or heartache, or loss, without suffering, there would be no miracles.
My heart hurts for this family. It isn't fair what happened to them. I picture the last moments of this little girl's life and it makes me physically sick to my stomach. (Not that I haven't had a moment without being nauseated in the past month, but you know what I mean.) But, here are the consequences of that incident: An innocent little girl is in heaven, and never has to suffer another moment. A mother has lost a daughter. A sister has lost her best friend. A father feels the emptiness of his home. A man was captured, a man who may be responsible for other incidents such as this. These parents, who have lived without their child for years, have hope that they will find an answer, find some closure. A community is mourning. Who knows how many little girls were saved by this man's arrest. Every mother who reads this story holds her child closer. Some people installed home security systems, some people bought guns, or big dogs, to protect their family. Maybe as a result of that, a life is saved.
When you take away the bitter, you take away the sweet. The more the pendulum swings back into pain and despair, the further it can swing forward into happiness and joy. Nobody wants the bad things to happen, but without those negative experinces, there is no joy in life.
So, take a minute today to see the miracles. They are all around you. Enjoy the good moments. Because they won't last. They can't last. And that is what makes them so, so, sweet.
Here's a link to the article if you would like to read it:
http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=21194209
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Hospital Part Two
Now officially admitted to the hospital and installed in my room, Eric and I decided that he should go home and sleep. He was extremely reluctant to go, but A) He had to go to work in the morning, B) The only thing he had to sleep on was a rather uncomfortable recliner and C) He couldn't really do anything for me at that point. So, he gave me a kiss and went home.
I did not sleep well that night. I was getting pain medication regularly, and the nurse would come in to check vitals every couple of hours. At 3 am, they came in to draw liver function tests (LFTs).
Dr. Watts' PA came in that morning to talk to me. He said that since they ruled out a biliary leak, they were looking at a couple of different diagnoses. He ordered a CT scan with contrast and (to rule out constipation) a suppository. Oh boy!
For the CT I had to drink contrast. They gave me six cups with the contrast divided equally among them and they mixed it with cranberry juice. I was supposed to drink one cup every 10 minutes. It was disgusting, but since I was NPO I was grateful for something to drink. Pain meds give you such a dry mouth, and even though I was getting IV fluids pumped into me I was still insanely thirsty. Then, after a dose of Ativan (because I am extremely claustrophobic, I had a panic attack getting a DEXA scan and that is just a bar that goes over your hips and legs, let alone a tube they slide you into), they wheeled me down for the CT. I had to sit a minute because they called me down a little bit to early, so I sort of dozed in my wheelchair and tried not to fall off of it. Then, they got me on the table and ran the contrast into my IV. Holy Hannah! They told me it would make my body warm, they failed to mention it would feel like my entire being was on FIRE! And, I felt like I was peeing my pants. (For the record, I didn't.)
The suppository wasn't incredibly successful, but I didn't think it would be. I have been backed up, but not THAT badly.
The news of the day: My LFTs were still elevated, the CT scan was normal. So, on to another sleepless night at the hospital. Highlight: My amazing father-in-law bought me JK Rowling's new book, which I had to read a page at a time because that's how long it would take for the pain meds to work and put me to sleep for 45 minutes or so.
Friday, Dr. Watts came in to talk to me. He said that my LFTs were still elevated, making interesting fluctuations, but still not normal. He decided that I should have a consult with a GI. So, I waited, and waited, and waited, but the GI never came.
Highlight of Friday: My mom and my sister came by and brought my little niece, and she snuggled with me. They gave me this awesome hot pad that was heated with water that would cycle through it, so it was always the perfect temperature. It felt really nice on my belly. Ivory loved it too, because it kept her nice and toasty while I was holding her. The nurses came in to ooh and aah over her, and we had a nice long chat. It was very relaxing and I was sad to see them go.
Eric came over every night after work, but being at the hospital was really hard on him. He felt really powerless and I could tell it was painful for him to watch me be in pain. He told me that he wasn't sleeping well without me at home, and he always looked so exhausted. One day, he said that he had a really vivid dream that I came home. He could hear me come in the door, say Hi to the dog, and crawl into bed next to him. He rolled over to ask me how I got home and I wasn't there.
Saturday, Dr. Watts came in again. LFTs still elevated. I told him the GI had never come in, and he told me that they never got the hepatitis panel ordered. My mom had done some research on Sphincter of Oddi dysfunction, and it describes my symptoms EXACTLY. Nausea, vomiting, intermitant severe pain, elevated LFTs. No jaundice, no fever, normal CT. Me to a T. I asked him about it, and he ordered an MRCP. He also decided to switch pain medication because I wasn't doing well on the one I was on.
Once again, they doped me up with Ativan before the test. Thank heavens they did! Even with the Ativan, I still was panicking a little in the MRI machine. The tube they put you in is TINY and the test takes like 45 minutes. I was very uncomfortable.
Saturay my mom and Dave came in and visited. Eric came by after work. At this point, I was at the end of my rope. I was physically, mentally, emotionally drained. I started to have a lot of anxiety, and I paged the nurse. An hour later, I still hadn't seen her. That had been going on all day; I would page them because I was in pain or extremely nauseated and dry heaving into my "horse condom" as Eric lovingly calls the blue emesis bags, and it would take them an hour or so to get into my room, by which point I was very uncomfortable. So, crying, hyperventilating, I called the number of the patient advocate and blubbered out that I think they all forgot me and I was so anxious and so upset and I really, really, really needed help!
Next thing I know, I've got three nurses in my room. The charge nurse came in and talked me down. They gave me some extra buspar and got me nice and doped up so I could sleep. Eric was really upset, and understandably so. I just had a meltdown and there was nothing he could do about it.
Sunday morning, they decided to discharge me. The MRCP was normal and my LFTs were, you guessed it, elevated. But, I had gotten to the point where I was off of IV pain meds and onto oral pain meds, so even though they had no answers, I was discharged. I was relieved, I was so ready to just go home.
So, that is where I am at now. I take a big handful of pills so I can function and nothing has changed. The pain is exactly the same, the nausea is exactly the same, and I have no answers. I'm going to try to get a referral to a GI and push for some answers. I'll try to keep everyone updated on this blog.
Once again, thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers! They are very much appreciated!
I did not sleep well that night. I was getting pain medication regularly, and the nurse would come in to check vitals every couple of hours. At 3 am, they came in to draw liver function tests (LFTs).
Dr. Watts' PA came in that morning to talk to me. He said that since they ruled out a biliary leak, they were looking at a couple of different diagnoses. He ordered a CT scan with contrast and (to rule out constipation) a suppository. Oh boy!
For the CT I had to drink contrast. They gave me six cups with the contrast divided equally among them and they mixed it with cranberry juice. I was supposed to drink one cup every 10 minutes. It was disgusting, but since I was NPO I was grateful for something to drink. Pain meds give you such a dry mouth, and even though I was getting IV fluids pumped into me I was still insanely thirsty. Then, after a dose of Ativan (because I am extremely claustrophobic, I had a panic attack getting a DEXA scan and that is just a bar that goes over your hips and legs, let alone a tube they slide you into), they wheeled me down for the CT. I had to sit a minute because they called me down a little bit to early, so I sort of dozed in my wheelchair and tried not to fall off of it. Then, they got me on the table and ran the contrast into my IV. Holy Hannah! They told me it would make my body warm, they failed to mention it would feel like my entire being was on FIRE! And, I felt like I was peeing my pants. (For the record, I didn't.)
The suppository wasn't incredibly successful, but I didn't think it would be. I have been backed up, but not THAT badly.
The news of the day: My LFTs were still elevated, the CT scan was normal. So, on to another sleepless night at the hospital. Highlight: My amazing father-in-law bought me JK Rowling's new book, which I had to read a page at a time because that's how long it would take for the pain meds to work and put me to sleep for 45 minutes or so.
Friday, Dr. Watts came in to talk to me. He said that my LFTs were still elevated, making interesting fluctuations, but still not normal. He decided that I should have a consult with a GI. So, I waited, and waited, and waited, but the GI never came.
Highlight of Friday: My mom and my sister came by and brought my little niece, and she snuggled with me. They gave me this awesome hot pad that was heated with water that would cycle through it, so it was always the perfect temperature. It felt really nice on my belly. Ivory loved it too, because it kept her nice and toasty while I was holding her. The nurses came in to ooh and aah over her, and we had a nice long chat. It was very relaxing and I was sad to see them go.
Eric came over every night after work, but being at the hospital was really hard on him. He felt really powerless and I could tell it was painful for him to watch me be in pain. He told me that he wasn't sleeping well without me at home, and he always looked so exhausted. One day, he said that he had a really vivid dream that I came home. He could hear me come in the door, say Hi to the dog, and crawl into bed next to him. He rolled over to ask me how I got home and I wasn't there.
Saturday, Dr. Watts came in again. LFTs still elevated. I told him the GI had never come in, and he told me that they never got the hepatitis panel ordered. My mom had done some research on Sphincter of Oddi dysfunction, and it describes my symptoms EXACTLY. Nausea, vomiting, intermitant severe pain, elevated LFTs. No jaundice, no fever, normal CT. Me to a T. I asked him about it, and he ordered an MRCP. He also decided to switch pain medication because I wasn't doing well on the one I was on.
Once again, they doped me up with Ativan before the test. Thank heavens they did! Even with the Ativan, I still was panicking a little in the MRI machine. The tube they put you in is TINY and the test takes like 45 minutes. I was very uncomfortable.
Saturay my mom and Dave came in and visited. Eric came by after work. At this point, I was at the end of my rope. I was physically, mentally, emotionally drained. I started to have a lot of anxiety, and I paged the nurse. An hour later, I still hadn't seen her. That had been going on all day; I would page them because I was in pain or extremely nauseated and dry heaving into my "horse condom" as Eric lovingly calls the blue emesis bags, and it would take them an hour or so to get into my room, by which point I was very uncomfortable. So, crying, hyperventilating, I called the number of the patient advocate and blubbered out that I think they all forgot me and I was so anxious and so upset and I really, really, really needed help!
Next thing I know, I've got three nurses in my room. The charge nurse came in and talked me down. They gave me some extra buspar and got me nice and doped up so I could sleep. Eric was really upset, and understandably so. I just had a meltdown and there was nothing he could do about it.
Sunday morning, they decided to discharge me. The MRCP was normal and my LFTs were, you guessed it, elevated. But, I had gotten to the point where I was off of IV pain meds and onto oral pain meds, so even though they had no answers, I was discharged. I was relieved, I was so ready to just go home.
So, that is where I am at now. I take a big handful of pills so I can function and nothing has changed. The pain is exactly the same, the nausea is exactly the same, and I have no answers. I'm going to try to get a referral to a GI and push for some answers. I'll try to keep everyone updated on this blog.
Once again, thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers! They are very much appreciated!
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Hospital Part One
It's 3:30 am and I'm wide awake. The phlebotomist just came in to draw some blood, and now that I'm up I can feel the pain and nausea, again.
As you probably know, I had my gallbladder removed. The surgery was successful and uncomplicated, and for the first week, so was my recovery.
Then, in the wee morning hours of Wednesday, I was awakened with pain. Severe pain. The kind of pain that took your breath away and just hurt like crazy no matter what you did. After a couple of minutes it faded away and I fell back asleep. Maybe 30 minutes later, I was writhing again, only to have it fade away a few minutes later. This went on for a couple of hours.
I decided to get up and see if a hot bath would ease the pain. I also took  some pain medicine. After about 45 minutes in the tub, I found myself leaning over the edge to puke in the toilet.
I teetered into my bedroom to wake my husband just in time for our alarm clocks to go off. After I started vomiting, I decided to call in at work. I was pretty upset considering I just barely started the job and I was already calling in. Since I was supposed to be at work in an hour, I told my boss that I would come in until she could find sometime. So, I put on some deodorant, gagged and threw up in the sink trying to brush my teeth, did what I could with my dang hair, then hauled my sorry behind into work. I was only there for about an hour, but I was pretty miserable.
I called and left a message for my surgeon, took my last two Lortab and some phenergan, and fell asleep. I continued to have episodes of the pain, but the meds took the edge off. I had to get up on occasion to throw up, or more accurately, dry heave since I hadn't had anything to eat or drink.
At about 1:30, Eric called to check up on me. It was perfect timing because my meds had worn out. I still hadn't heard from my surgeon's office, so I decided to go to the clinic and get a shot or an IV. While I was waiting in the lobby (which, for the record, was weird), my surgeon office called me back. They wanted me to have some labs drawn and he wanted to see me.
Ariane and Dr. Walton got me shots - toradol and zofran - and since Eric needed to work and my sister needed to get out of the house, Sylvee and Ivory took me to see the surgeon.
I saw his PA. He and Dr. Watts decided to do another HIDA scan to check for a bile leak. They told me that if the HIDA showed a leak, that I would be admitted. The labs and the HIDA were both normal. I was sent home with pain meds and no answers.
We got home at about 7:00ish. I took two percocets at about 7:30. At about 8:30, the pain hit again. A complete 10. All my other attacks lasted 5 minutes tops. Five minutes passed, no relief. I ran another hot bath. Started dry heaving, which I had been doing all day. I called for Eric. 10 minutes passed. Started to panic. Eric was sitting on the bathroom floor watching me writhe in pain in the tub and dry heaving. 15 minutes. I tried deep breathing, different positions, focusing on other things. Nothing helped. I was praying. I started moaning, Lucius started crying, Eric was visibly upset. After 20 minutes, I told him: we need to go to the hospital. Now.</p>
<p>We arrive at the ER. It took an hour to get a room. The ER doc draws some labs and discusses possibly doing a CT scan. They get an IV in, and give me some dilauded and zofran. Finally, relief!</p>
<p>Wait, my pain isn't going away. And it wasn't going away. Time passes, no relief! So they give me another dose. And I was STILL writhing in pain! The ER doc comes back in and tells me that after consulting with the on call surgeon, they decided to admit me.
I had realized that this was a possibility, and I told Eric that, but I was surprised at how surprised I was. A lot of denial, I guess.
They gave me a third dose of dilauded because I was still in a lot of pain. They wheeled me into my room where the lovely nurse gave me phenergan and toradol and acetaminophen and I finally, finally had relief 4 hours later.
I'm exhausted now, but I will post more in a couple of hours. I appreciate all of the thoughts and prayers. Every time I am feeling depressed and discouraged, I get a little reminder that there are people out there who love me and who are rooting for me to get better. Also, my new employers have been unbelievably understanding and flexible with me, and I really appreciate it!
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